Walking Dead Gravel in Your Gut

Gravel in Your Gut  
By Cider Sky

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_A/N:_ This was written for a prompt on the twd-kinkmeme but I cannot, for the life of me, find it. Its somewhere in there and it involved Daryl toughening little Beth up some.

_A/N2:_ So, I'm back into WD writing mode, which is great (and not so great for the other fandom I _was_ working in), but you may have noticed that I start many stories at the same time. I know this can be cause for complaint but it's the way I operate. Hopefully it isn't to awfully distracting or aggravating and ya'll will stick with me.

_A/N3: _That being said, the second half of What Doesn't Kill You will be up by Saturday/Sunday and I went back to the OBTD sequel and am working it over and preparing the first chapter. Separation Anxiety is slower coming (I haven't been in a shipping mood, sadly enough), but a third chapter has been mostly written so I just need to focus a bit.

Thanks to everyone who is still with me. Only 6 more days!

* * *

She wasn't going to last long, going the way she was.

He could see it in everything she was; her posture, the way she spoke, the way she moved, the way every little thing sent her world toppling; everything about her spoke of someone whose days were numbered.

Two weeks tops, he thought.

It was a pretty strong analysis of the girl, maybe unfair because he hardly knew her, but he was right. He had seen it before, within this group and before them, even.

In the early stages of the outbreak there had been those kinds of people. There were the ones that would drag you down with them and hell, he'd seen plenty of that. There had been people grasping at others, begging their way into stranger's cars and on more than one occasion he had seen some Good Samaritan fool become Walker food while attempting to save some unfortunate prick who was too far gone to begin with.

Then there were the people who just curled up and died, the people like her.

He could remember one instance in particular in which he had spotted a woman from his pickup as he and his brother fled their broken down town. Everyone around her was running, screaming, crying, but her, she had just lay down in the damn street.

She hadn't been crying or begging for help; no, if anything she looked lost and overwhelmed, as though she couldn't comprehend a single thing happening around her. She had looked around at the people surrounding her, letting them nudge her aside like frightened cattle and then, like a child seeking the warmth of pavement at the end of a spring day, she'd kneeled down and laid her palms flat on the black surface.

And then, she'd lain down. Simple as that.

He had never seen anything like it and had turned away before he could see what happened to her. He had been so disgusted and since then he had met plenty of people with that sort of character; the scared, the weak, the one's who just lay down without a fight –

But – that wasn't right anymore, that assessment. It had changed over time, had changed with these people; before he wouldn't have given this girl, this wisp of a human being a second glance, would have let nature take it's course and would have put a pickaxe through her head, just like the others, when the time came, but now –

Daryl had come to realize it wasn't just the scared and the weak; it was the young, the old, the damn bleeding hearts and none of those were bad things, really.

Daryl sighed, silently cursing Rick and Carol and the others for putting this softness in him; he blamed them for it, of course, because there was no other explanation.

He made a quick stop at his motorcycle, grabbing the Baby Browning he had found under the seat of some wrecked car miles back, and made his way to the girl.

She was sitting there on a rock, curled up with her knees to her chin as she watched her father work and in that instant he realized he had never spoken a single word to her.

He knew her name – Beth – but that was about all, so it was no surprise that upon seeing his approach she popped her head up and stretched out of the near fetal position, her expression apprehensive and nervous.

He figured he shouldn't beat around the bush; weren't no point in it, and he had never been good with small talk.

"Here." Daryl said, voice low, as he pushed the small caliber gun towards her. It was perfect for her, he decided; he had almost left it there, in the car, when he first saw it because the damn thing was so small, but common sense won over and he snatched it up, intending to pass it off to Lori or Carol or Carl.

He waited, dipping his head down to see if she was listening, waiting for her to take the stupid, girly little gun out of his hand.

But, she just looked at him, doe-eyed and so painfully innocent.

It was almost unnerving, the way she just sat and stared, blue orbs boring into him as her gaze flit between him and the gun.

"Ya deaf? I said take it." He really didn't know much about the girl, had been on the fringes when she had been in shock, or whatever it was, back at the farm but damn, if it weren't going just peachy. Despite their lack of history he had expected a little more from this interaction.

She blinked.

Dary huffed, seriously starting to wonder if she weren't a little slow in the head.

Finally, with a tug at her blonde hair, she answered.

"I don't want it." Her voice was nothing but a little squeak, barely reaching him but there was something disarming about, something you couldn't really be angry at.

And there was no mistaking it; her lip had curled up at the sight of it and she leaned away, ever so slightly. There was probably a story in there, something deep and psychological, but really, he didn't have the time or the particular desire to sit down and talk about it.

"Tough. Y' can't depend on them forever." Beth looked away, towards her father and Maggie and Glenn, all of who were working a Walker out from under their car, it's mangled frame caught between the wheel and the frame.

"They ain't always gonna be there." Her eyes hardened at that but then gave way to something soft, her brows upturned and fuck, the last thing he needed was to make the girl cry. But he wasn't one for taking back his words – he meant it and it was nothing but true.

He decided to try something else, something a little less aggressive and he realized with a small amount of regret that he was doing exactly what Shane had been doing to Carl.

But they weren't on the farm anymore; no one could deny the girl needed some way to defend herself. It didn't matter if you were a woman or a man, young or old, you needed to be able to protect the group, to protect yourself.

Y' gotta learn t' take care of yourself, take care of your dad and sister, t' protect the group."

"Protect the group?" Beth said in small disbelief and she looked up at him again, eyes wide and frightened. "I can't protect the group."

She looked near tears and damn, he knows she's young but it was plain fact that she wasn't going to last long if this was how she was going to be.

"Girl, y' don't gotta choice." It came out a bit harsher than he would have wanted, though not really, because there were a dozen dead Walkers around them and it had been far too close for comfort and all she had done was cling to her daddy, all tears and dead-weight.

He was still holding the gun out, hoping she'd just give up and take the damn thing, and for a moment it looked like she was going too –

"Just what do you think you are doing?" Both their heads snapped towards the source of the voice and Daryl let loose a low groan as Hershel steadily trekked towards them, a tight frown on his face.

"Y'r girl needs a weapon." Daryl hadn't really thought about it, what he was doing, because it had been a rather spontaneous thing, this little chat they were having. There was no denying, thought, that would've probably been better for everyone – him, Hershel, Beth - if he had left this to Rick.

"No." Hershel shook his head in a way that made it difficult to tell whether it was a 'no' to the weapon or a general 'no' concerning him being the one to deliver the all too obvious news.

It was no secret that Hershel wasn't a fan of him, despite his help at the farm and his generally improved attitude; so, it was easy for Daryl to understand the man's aggravation, but it didn't change the fact that he was right over the matter.

"Not until she has been taught how to use it. Properly." Daryl couldn't disagree with that, but the way he figured it, the girl would be better off with some kind of weapon over no weapon at all, regardless of her skill level.

"Hell, I can teach her - " He didn't know exactly where that came from because really, he hadn't even thought about it until that very second and they weren't exactly in the position to be frivolously wasting ammo.

"I'd prefer you didn't." Hershel turned away from him, his attention back on his daughter and Daryl could tell by the way she was inching towards him that she was glad for the intervention.

"We're about ready to go so why don't you wait in the car with Glenn and your sister." Hershel's voice was back to that syrupy, sweet tone he seemed to reserve for his youngest and Daryl fought the urge to roll his eyes; it's the last thing the girl needed.

Beth nodded, giving a sheepish 'ok' before casting one final glance at Daryl and that gun. Then, with no small amount of awkwardness, she slid of the rock, limbs tucked around her, and made her way towards the bloody vehicle.

Daryl shifted his weight, not looking forward to whatever was to come or the fact that his talk with Beth, something he had meant to

As soon as she was out of earshot Hershel turned back to him, all the saccharine-sweetness gone.

"Listen, son. I appreciate what you do for this group and I understand that you were just working out of your best intentions, but-"

Hershel stepped forward and there was no mistaking that it was meant to be intimidating.

"-that's my daughter. You have no place giving that to her, she's only sixteen." Hershel cast a glance at Beth before taking a deep breath, his hand tightening around his shotgun.

He could've argued that he himself had been handling a gun by eight years old or that this was the damn apocalypse (the obvious argument to choose), but the real problem was as clear to Daryl as everyone else's not so secret problems.

The man was trying to hold onto the last shred of purity and innocence in this world; Daryl could see it in the way he talked to her, protected her, fucking sang to her when the nights grew too dark …

What the man didn't want to see – or, admit to himself, because Daryl knew the man wasn't a complete fool – was that all he was doing was hurting the girl.

"You know as well as anyone, y' can't protect her forever." Merle would've punched him right in the gut for the softness in his voice, but the last thing he wanted was to turn this into a group argument. He was done with that; the group couldn't last with that sort of behavior. Not anymore.

Hershel looked as though he was giving it serious thought and for one surprising moment Daryl was sure he was going to take the gun and give it to his daughter, to have some damn sense and understand he was trying to keep the kid from becoming Walker food.

But instead –

"I appreciate your concern but, please, stay away from my daughter."

* * *

A few days later saw them ransacking a small pharmacy.

He had almost forgotten about his attempt to arm the youngest Greene daughter, as that had been there one and only interaction to date, but the memory was quickly brought back to the forefront when he caught her meandering along towards the back of the store.

Daryl watched as she zigzagged around, picking at things here and there, looking for all the world like the kid she was and hell, he couldn't for the life of him understand the sheer stupidity of Hershel; if he wasn't going to keep the kid on a leash he was going to have to give her a damn gun.

He wished – and not for the first time since leaving the farm – that Andrea was still with them. She could've handled this, would've found some way to get the girl to understand, would've known how to toughen her up some.

But Andrea wasn't here. It was just him and well -

Daryl shook his head; it was none of his business, Hershel had made that clear enough, and the last thing he needed was for Hershel to come in and see him watching after his kid – with his luck the old man would think his attention was something far more sinister then it was and he _really_ didn't want to try to deal with that.

The mere thought was enough to have him turning back to what he had been doing, reaching deep into the shelves in search of gauze and tape and whatever the hell else Hershel had told them all to look for that morning.

The run wasn't going to be one of their most successful; it was obvious, what with the way most of them were milling around, picking at all the tacky shit that had lost it's relevance: sandals, a cheap Walkman, bottles of weight-loss pills …

It was amazing how much _crap_ actually filled these stores.

He started on the next aisle, looking over the shelves, for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of that blonde hair.

Beth was still there, at the back of the store, trying – rather unsuccessfully – to get a door labeled 'Main Office' open. He figured he could probably just kick the damn thing in for her but Hershel's warning stopped him from actually doing anything.

It was probably a good thing – the door would keep the kid distracted and out of everyone's hair.

They all had enough to worry about and hell, he could hear the angry whispering from two rows over; Rick and Lori had been in the maternity aisle the whole damn time and it was obvious that whatever they were finding there, it wasn't what they had been expecting.

He didn't need to look over there to understand the two had reached the height of their argument when he heard a loud huff and Rick's desperate, "Lori, wait –".

For a moment, the group's problems all came slamming down on him like a terrible weight, crushing and suffocating; Rick and Lori and their unborn child, the slow approach of winter, their lack of supplies, Beth, Carol and her decreasing trust in Rick …

They were ripping themselves apart –

Daryl shook his head, brushing the thoughts away for the time being; it wasn't going to help a damned person, his brooding, so he continued on, looking for anything else that could keep them going for another mile.

Almost as soon as he began searching the new row of near useless supplies, he heard a squeal of surprise, which quickly turned into abject horror and it didn't take more than a millisecond's thought to figure where it was coming from.

He darted back towards where he had seen Beth wandering, Rick on his heels, and wouldn't you know it, she had found her way into that damn office.

"Beth!" Hershel's voice sounded behind him just as he caught a flash of gold in the dark of that room – he could see it now, the Walker's gnarled fingers wrapped around her ponytail, her back arched as it tried to pull her over the damned desk.

"Help …" She choked out in between hysterical sobs as she tried to pull away, hands grasping at the desk's edge.

The Walker pulled her back again, eliciting another hysterical plea for help, and, just before its gaping maw could sink into porcelain flesh, an arrow found its way into one putrid eye socket.

Beth sunk down, back to the desk in a right fit of hysterics and Daryl left her for Rick and Hershel to deal with as he rounded the desk, pulling the Walker back to ensure the thing was dead and gone.

Satisfied, he pulled the arrow out with a sickening squelch.

By the time he turned back around Hershel was kneeling next to his daughter trying to calm her frantic sobbing and Rick was standing in the doorway, face grim, tired.

It wasn't but a moment after that that had Glenn and Maggie rushing into the room and suddenly it seemed far too crowded.

So, Daryl edged around the small group, and joined the ex-Sherriff in the doorway.

"She alright?" Daryl muttered, listening as Beth's sobs were reduced to sniffles under her father and her sister's care.

"Yeah, looks like you got to her right in time. Just shook up, is all." The hunter looked at the man, his face all lines of worry and fatigue, and he waited for him to say something about sticking together, staying in groups and defending themselves, but it never came.

Instead, Rick put a hand on the older man's shoulder, giving him an enquiring look, to which Hershel nodded, signaling he didn't need any further help.

That seemed to be enough for Rick and he turned to leave, giving Daryl a friendly pat on the arm as he left the room.

Weeks before Rick would've said more, but Daryl could see it – the man was beyond exhausted, was bordering on something else, even, and he just didn't have it in him to deal with every single problem that came his way. Not anymore.

So, Daryl stood there, because it's what Rick would've done before.

He wasn't much for this kind of thing, so he continued on standing, shifting awkwardly as he looked the other way, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Eventually he could hear them coming to their feet. Daryl glanced over, head dipped low, catching the older man's gaze.

The man opened his mouth and Daryl was sure he was about to get another earful of bullshit but then the older man's attention was on Maggie.

"Maggie, take your sister outside for some air, please." He gave Beth a small kiss on the forehead, voice dipping, "I'll be right there."

"Of course, dad. C'mon, Beth, it's alright." The three made their way out, Glenn giving Daryl a small nod as he passed, trailing behind the two women and then, it was just him and Hershel.

The silence stretched on for far too long and Daryl was about to turn away, to leave the old man to whatever was working its way around his head, when Hershel finally spoke up, his voice ragged.

"Beth is not like Maggie. She's fragile, sensitive, always has been and I suspect she always will be –"

Hershel paused and Daryl could see that whatever was coming next was something the man wasn't keen on saying out loud, and once he did the words were fumbling and tired.

"- She's not – she's not meant for this kind of life, you understand." Though it was clear that Hershel wasn't actually looking for any sign of understanding, Daryl nodded.

Daryl knew plenty about the people who weren't meant for this kind of life; Tom Bivins from the auto shop, Cousin Rem, the girl from the mini-mart on Route 20 – all of them were dead now because they were all made of the same stuff as Beth, the kind of stuff the world would grind beneath it's heels.

"Whether she is or she ain't, it don't change nothin'. Ain't no one meant for this kinda life, but it is what it is."

Hershel looked none too pleased but it was clear the man was having a hard time conjuring up an argument.

"I'm no fool. I know I won't always be here to protect them, but … it's got to be her decision. I'm not forcing violence on my daughter. Not Beth."

Daryl could've given the man grief over that, let him know that it wasn't a choice anymore, stopped being a choice when people started eating each other, but -

- it sounded a lot like permission, or at least a promise that he wouldn't interfere with him trying to give the girl a bit of grit, given she wanted it.

"Are we clear?" Hershel fixed him with a serious stare and Daryl gave a small, jutting nod.

Hershel muttered a small, 'good' and took leave of the dingy room, leaving Daryl alone with the downed Walker, golden hairs still clenched in it's rotted fist.

* * *

After a week, she finally approached him, and it was no real surprise; the day before had held another close-call, Maggie being the near victim.

The way he figured it, if she didn't come to him today, she never would.

He had been sitting on a rotted log in companionable silence with Carol as he worked over a stick with his knife. He had heard her soft approach but hadn't looked up, despite Carol's small greeting to the girl.

Beth gave the older woman her own small greeting in return but then quickly turned back to what had drawn her to them in the first place.

"Mr. Dixon?" And hell, this was already starting out weird; the only people who had ever called him 'Mr. Dixon' had been whichever judge had the misfortune of dealing with him during his worst years and the cashier at Publix who wore too much makeup and was far too desperate.

It took a good amount of willpower to _not_ give the woman next to him a small warning glare, knowing, without needing to look, that she had that amused little smirk on her face.

He'd have to stop that – this Mr. Dixon business - from becoming habit, but for now, he kept his mouth shut and looked up from the arrow he was currently working on.

She stood there in front of him, head low and arms wrapped around her and damn, if he didn't have his work cut out for him. She was a somewhat helpless looking thing; all gangly limbs, soft and un-toned, pale, despite the abuse of the Georgia sun and her demeanor …

If he was going to toughen her up, put some gravel in her gut, they were going to have to work on that in a big way.

"Y just gonna stand there or d'ya got somethin' to say?" He squinted up at her, waiting for some sign that this wasn't going to be a completely agonizing process.

But it seemed luck, or fate or whatever was with him because, to her credit, she didn't squeak out a tinny 'nevermind', as he'd been expecting, or just turn and walk away.

"I-I want to help protect the group." There was some confidence in there, though Daryl wasn't about to be impressed by a little gall; she was still the girl who flinched and whimpered at every sound and grabbed at her daddy's coat tails when things got bad.

"Last we talked, y' didn't think you could. Ain't so sure myself." Daryl could feel Carol's eyes on him, most likely fixed in a disapproving stare, but he wasn't about to go to the trouble of working with the girl if she couldn't take a harsh word or two; Lord knew Daryl Dixon wasn't the gentlest of teachers.

Daryl's gaze returned to the stick in his hands but his attention remained on the girl. It wasn't just a way to feel her out, no, he wasn't _that _much of a bastard. What he really wanted was for her to stand up to him a bit, for her to push back.

"I don't know if I can," it wasn't what he had been hoping for but at least her voice was steady, albeit a bit quiet, "but I want to learn how."

_So much for pushin' back,_ Daryl thought as he glanced back up at her. _At least she ain't cryin'._

"What changed your mind?" He asked

"I can't – I can't lose them. If I do, I don't … I don't know if –" Her voice was back to that irritating waver, any confidence from before having been swept away in a wave of what Daryl could only expect was fear – fear over what could happen, what most likely _would_ happen – and damn, he tried to remind himself that she was only sixteen.

"I don't want them to die." Her eyes watered but to her credit she managed to hold it together as she stared down at him, hands wringing nervously.

Suddenly those hands looked too small for that Baby Browning, too delicate to wield a knife and far to soft to draw a bowstring.

He really should have left this to Rick or Lori or Carol or damnit, he should have just listened to Herschel in the first place.

"Please, Mr. Dixon." Her lip had taken to quivering and he could damn near _see_ the wave of self-doubt rolling over her. Carol gave a small, almost inaudible huff and it was clear that she thought the poor girl had had enough.

Daryl fought the urge to tell her to mind her own but the woman was right; he wan't setting out to make the damn girl cry.

"Y' best listen cuz I ain't gonna repeat myself. Y' gonna do what I say, when I say, got it?" Beth nodded her head, mouth in a tight line and her eyes shining, bright and focused.

If he didn't know any better it looked like she really wanted this. But he wasn't convinced, not yet; a mere second of bravery in this world didn't mean much.

"And I don't wanna hear no complainin' neither. If y' wanna help them, help the group, y' gotta be tough. No moanin'. No cryin', y' hear?"

"Yes." Beth nodded so fervently Daryl was sure she'd hurt herself. "Yes. I can do all that, Mr. Dixon –"

"Yeah, well, first things first," He cuts off her hurried words, all rushed and promising, and waggles his knife at her, "'nough with that Mr. Dixon bull. 'S just Dixon. Or Daryl. Y' choose."

If he was going to be honest, they both would sound damn strange and he figured it was probably because the members of the Greene family had so far only referred to him as 'son' or, in Maggie's case, 'him'.

"Okay, Mr … Daryl." He hoped that was a fluke because he sure as hell didn't like 'Mr. Daryl.'

"We'll start tomorrow. Y' can start by helpin' me dig up some tinder. Maybe hunt down a squirrel or two." Beth bit her lip at that but Daryl wasn't about to wonder over what it meant.

Daryl thought she would have gotten the picture, would've realized they were done here, but she scuffed her shoe against the dirt and damn if he didn't have his work cut out for him.

"Well, go on. Don' need you distractin' me more'n ya already have." Another nod and she turned on her heel, bounding away without another word.

Daryl sighed and looked down the stick he'd been sharpening; it was uneven, to sharp on one side, causing a lilt in it's overall shape.

How the hell was he going to work with her while they were on the run like this; it wasn't like the farm where there was some bastardized version of safety, hell, they hardly stayed camped in one place for more than three days …

"You sure about this?" Carol asked, her voice careful but uncolored by her usual worry, her usual well-meaning concern. Since the farm she had been far … colder. Daryl wasn't sure if it was the right word but she was no longer fretting over everyone, no longer arguing about the innocence of childhood.

"'S gotta be done." Daryl said because hell no, he wasn't sure about this at all. Why hadn't the stupid girl just taken the gun in the first place?

As Daryl looked back up at Beth, her small form huddled next to a pathetic little fire, he wondered just what the hell he had gotten himself into.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Updates for this and other stories to come soon! Again, thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorite, followed, etc. It means so much to me.


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Walking Dead, Adventure, Friendship